when in doubt, argue with yourself

This morning, I was having one of those dreams that was so engrossing that I was actually pissed off my alarm was going off every six minutes and forcing me to leave the dream unfinished.

Before I describe it, though, let me preface by speculating why (I suspect) this dream happened last night. One of the reoccuring topics of conversation lately has been my love of a good ol’ fashioned, knee-deep discussion/debate about all manner of things, not the least of which is politics. I’m a confessed political junkie, so much so that (after waffling and reflecting for a month), I’m taking a graduate-level political-science seminar on the American presidency this fall just for fun; literally, I just want an outlet for discussing presidential politics during the election season. I’m weird, we all know this, but the fact that I’ll have a weekly slot of three hours to discuss and debate is more thrilling to me than words can express.

This love of mine of a good (political) discussion … well, sometimes it works out, sometimes not. There are those I know who rarely (if ever) are willing to engage others in full-on political discussion as a matter of course, and I respect that. Knowing your limits and your hot buttons is much better than engaging in a battle of wits that ends with hurt feelings. Others will go so far down the road of political debate that I feel like I’m being attacked, and that’s certainly not something I enjoy. Clearly, having someone around who loves debating without taking it personally is something I enjoy, though, and every once in a while I hit the social jackpot and find such a person.

Maybe it’s because I’m single and have the occasional date, and am thus exposed to more new people nowadays than I’m typically used to. Or maybe it’s because the election season is now in high gear, coming off the Dem’s convention in Boston and gearing up for the Republicans in NY shortly. Maybe the imminent arrival of football season and the attendant ramping up of my — shhhh! — dislike of the Cowboys has me in a contrary mood. Beats me.

So the dream. It wasn’t about politics, so calm yourselves — that dream will be in October, I’m sure. 😉 In the dream, I was traveling with my parents and others. We all had a buttload of stuff, so they sent me ahead with a large portion of the luggage/stuff. The plan (as I loosely recall it) was for me to get things checked in ahead of time so everyone didn’t have to fuss with bags and whatnot. Now, were we flying? I can’t really remember. The point was that I was fully loaded, though, and for whatever reason was going to my destination via Union Station in DC. Maybe I was catching the Metro at Union Station? Or a train? We’ll never know. That’s because, in the dream, fully loaded down with stuff, I got stopped at security AT THE FRONT DOOR to Union Station.

For those unfamiliar, Union Station in DC has no security. (At least, it didn’t last time I checked, which I’ll grant you was pre-9/11.) So, I arrived somewhat flummoxed by the fact that I had to dump all my crap on the conveyor belt to be x-rayed and wander through the metal detector myself. As my stuff when through the machine (and I remind you, I was loaded down), they systematically saw fit to search — thoroughly — everything I was carrying. This involved taking piles of clothing, electronics, etc., out of bags, peeking around inside, and leaving it all for me to repack. As I was getting ready to put everything back into the bags, the security guard said, “Since you exceeded the bag limit for going through security, and since it took so long to search everything, the charge is $200.”

I was appalled. “WHAT?!” I said, grimacing at the security person — who, I should mention, had been joking with me and been generally nice woman. (OH yes, I should also mention there was nobody else around — in security, in Union Station, etc.) She said, “Yeah, I know it’s stupid, but we’re allotted no more than 60 seconds per person for security checks, and if we take longer, you have to pay.”

This went on for a while, until I demanded she fetch me her supervisor. And I swear to you, folks, I argued about this — PASSIONATELY argued about it — for at least an hour in dream time. My mom eventually showed up, and when I explained the situation to her, she was ready to give them $200 and move on. I refused. It was the principle of the thing. I wouldn’t pay, and as a result, they wouldn’t give me the bags back.

For whatever reason, this inspired me to insist we stay overnight so I could formulate a strategy. So we delayed our departure until the next day, and the next morning, I woke up ready to go back to Union Station and argue some more. As we were getting in the car to go back to Union Station, I saw a sign on the back of a car in the distance — I don’t know what it said, exactly, but it was clearly a lawyer specifically hoping to find ME, one who wanted to come argue my case with me. In my dream (now this is weird!!), the lawyer had read my rant about this whole security thing ON THIS BLOG, tracked me down, and said she’d represented (successfully) another woman who had been in the same situation. Her fee? LOL $200.

Anyway, so I woke up at that point — having spent a lot of time the night before preparing my arguments, then running across this lawyer, and being primed and fired up to go give these idiots a piece of my mind. And I was so, so angry that I didn’t get to finish the dream so I could fight with them!!

I’m sorry to bore you all with this story, but I just think it’s hysterical. I’m such a dork sometimes.

The moral of the story? If you can’t find someone to argue with you, just argue with yourself. Or, if you prefer, with figments of your imagination. 🙂